Who Are Happiest? and Other Stories Part 3

"Rover's had a fight," replied d.i.c.k.

"Ah! Who with?"

"Mr. Jones's Bose."

"Well, which whipped?"

"Rover, of course," replied d.i.c.k, with a smile of triumph; "and I can make him whip any thing."

"You're a keen chap, d.i.c.k," said Mr. Acres, patting the boy on the head, "and are going to make a man one of these days, I see plainly enough. So Rover whipped. I knew there was prime stuff in him."

"There isn't another such a fellow in these 'ere parts," was d.i.c.k's proud answer.

"But _you_ look a little the worse for wear, as well as Rover. Have you been fighting, too?"

d.i.c.k held down his head for a moment, and then looking up into Mr.

Acres's face, said--

"Yes, sir," in rather a sheepish way.

"Ah! well, who have you been fighting with?"

"With Harry Jones. He didn't want to give Rover fair play; and once, when he had Bose down, he kicked him."

"And then you kicked him for kicking your dog?"

"Yes, sir."

"That was right. Never permit a friend to be imposed upon. And after that you had a regular fight?"

"Yes, sir."

"Which whipped?"

"I gave him a b.l.o.o.d.y nose; and shouldn't wonder if he had a black eye into the bargain. And what is more, made him cry 'enough.'"

"That was right. Never fight but in a good cause, and then be sure to whip your man."

"It'll take a smarter boy than Harry Jones to whip me," said d.i.c.k proudly.

"And you think Rover can whip any thing about here?"

"Yes, indeed. And I'm going to make him do it, too."

"You'd better not try him against Markland's old Nero."

"He'll whip him in ten minutes."

"I'm not so sure of that. Nero is a great deal bigger and stronger."

"I don't care if he is. I'm learning Rover a trick that'll make him whip a dog twice his size."

"What is that?"

d.i.c.k called Rover, and the dog came up to him wagging his tail.

"Give us your paw," said the boy, in a tone of authority.

The dog instantly lifted one of his forefeet, which d.i.c.k took in his hand, and began to squeeze gently at first, and then, by degrees, harder and harder, e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.n.g. all the while, in a quick distinct tone--"Leg him! leg him! leg him!" until the dog, from first indicating signs of pain, began to whine, and then to yell out as if in agony. At this, d.i.c.k dropped the foot, and looked up into the farmer's face.

"Well, d.i.c.k, what does all that mean?" asked Mr. Acres.

"I'm learning him to catch hold of the foot," replied the boy.

"The mischief you are!"

"Yes, sir. And when he's fairly up to it, he can whip any dog, if he's as big as an elephant."

"But can you learn him?"

"I made him catch Jones's Bose by the foot this morning, and it would have done your heart good to have heard him yell. If he isn't lame for a month, then I don't know any thing about it."

"There's no fear of you, I see," was Mr. Acres's encouraging reply to this, again patting d.i.c.k on the head.

In about two weeks from that time it was pretty well known through the neighbourhood that d.i.c.k Lawson had given out that he could make his Rover whip Markland's Nero, a n.o.ble animal that had never been matched by any dog around. Markland's son felt his pride in his dog touched at this, and challenged d.i.c.k to a battle. The time was set, and the place, a neighbouring field, chosen. Old and young seemed to take an interest in the matter, and when the time arrived, and d.i.c.k appeared on the ground with his dog, there were a.s.sembled, men and boys, at least one hundred persons, and among the rest, Mr. Acres, who began to feel somewhat drawn towards his protege d.i.c.k.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CRUEL SPORT.]

The two dogs were brought forward by the two lads, whose parents knew nothing of the affair, and by pushing them against, and throwing them upon each other, irritated and angered them until they finally went to work in real earnest, greatly to the delight of the lookers-on. Rover fought bravely, but he was evidently no match for his larger and stronger antagonist, who tore him savagely, while he seemed unable to penetrate Nero's thick yielding skin. The shouts that arose from the group around were all in favour of Nero, who was a general favourite--as he was one of those large, peaceable, benevolent fellows, belieing his name, whom all liked, while there was something of the churl and savage about Rover, that caused him to have but few friends.

The contest had waged about ten minutes, fiercely, and Rover was evidently getting "worsted," when d.i.c.k, who had been constantly encouraging his dog, stooped close to his ear, and spoke something in a low, quick, energetic tone.

Instantly Rover crouched down, and darting forward, seized the forepaw of Nero in his mouth, and commenced gnawing it eagerly. The n.o.ble animal, thus unexpectedly and basely a.s.sailed, found the pain to which he was suddenly subjected so great as to take away all power of resistance. He would not utter a cry, but sat down, and permitted the other dog to gnaw away at his tender foot without a single sign of suffering. As the cry of pain, the dog's "enough," was to terminate the battle, the fine fellow was permitted thus to suffer for several minutes, before the bystanders came forward and pulled d.i.c.k Lawson's dog off. Nero would have died before a sound could have been extorted from him.

As Nero had not cried "enough," Bob Markland contended afterwards that his dog had not been whipped, to settle which difference of opinion he and d.i.c.k had several hard battles, in which the latter, like his dog, always came off the victor. The upshot of all these contests was, the expulsion of d.i.c.k from the Sabbath-school, into which he carried the bickerings engendered through the week. Another reason for his expulsion was the frequency with which he played truant, and of his having, in several instances, enticed other boys away from the school for the same purpose.

Except Mr. Acres, nearly every man, woman and child in the neighbourhood sincerely disliked, and some actually hated d.i.c.k Lawson, for there was hardly a family some member of which had not been annoyed by him in one form or another. But Mr. Acres liked the spirit of the lad, as well as his thorough independence in regard to the opinion of others.

This man, who had first thrown temptation into the lad's way, and encouraged him to persevere in a conduct which nearly all condemned, was not a wilfully bad man. By most people he was called a good-hearted, benevolent person. The truth was, he was not a wise man. When young, he had indulged in such amus.e.m.e.nts as catching young birds, fighting dogs and c.o.c.ks, and attending horse-races, and all the exciting scenes to which he could get access. But none of these things corrupted him so far as to make him a decidedly bad man in the community. As he grew up, he gradually laid aside his boyish follies; saved up his money; bought himself a small farm, and, in time, became quite a substantial man, so far as worldly goods were concerned.

Contrasted with himself were several lads whose parents had been exceedingly strict with them, and who had, as they grew up, shaken off the trammels of childhood and youth, run into wild extravagances of conduct, and some into wicked and vicious habits, from which they were never reclaimed. Comparing his own case with theirs, his short-sighted conclusion was that boys ought to be allowed as much freedom as possible, and this was why he encouraged d.i.c.k, who was an exceedingly bright lad, in the course he had been so willing to pursue. He knew nothing at all of the different hereditary tendencies to evil that exist in the mind. His observation had never led him to see how two persons, raised in precisely the same manner, would turn out very differently--the one proving a good, and the other a bad citizen. His knowledge of human nature, therefore, never for a moment caused him to suspect, that in encouraging a feeling of cruelty in d.i.c.k Lawson, he might be only putting blood upon the tongue of a young lion--that there might be in his mind hereditary tendencies to evil, which encouragement to rob a bird's nest, or to set two dogs to fighting, by one occupying his position and influence, might cause to become so active as to ultimately make him a curse to society.

And such, in a year or two, d.i.c.k seemed becoming. He had in that time, although but fourteen years of age, got almost beyond his mother's control. His dog and himself were the terror of nearly all the dogs and boys in the neighbourhood, for both were surly, quarrelsome, and tyrannical. Even Mr. Acres had found it necessary to forbid him to appear on his premises. Rover having temporarily lamed, time after time, every one of his dogs, and d.i.c.k having twice beaten two of his black boys, farm-hands, because of some slight offence. To be revenged on him for this, he robbed a fine apricot-tree of all its fruit, both green and ripe, on the very night before Mr. Acres had promised to send a basket full, the first produced in the neighbourhood that spring, to a friend who was very much esteemed by him.

Though he strongly suspected d.i.c.k, yet he had no proof of the fact, and so made no attempt to have him punished.

Shortly after, the boy was apprenticed to a tanner and currier, a severe man, chosen as his master in the hope that his rigid discipline might do something towards reclaiming him. As the tanner had as many dogs as he wanted, he objected to the reception into his yard of d.i.c.k's ill-natured cur. But d.i.c.k told his mother that, unless Rover were allowed to go with him, he would not go to the trade selected for him. He was resolute in this, and at last Mrs. Lawson persuaded Mr. Skivers, the tanner, to take him, dog and all.

In his new place he did not get along, except for a very short time, without trouble. At the end of the third month, for neglect of work, bad language, and insolence, but particularly for cruelties practised upon a dog that had gotten the mastery over Rover, Mr. Skivers gave him a most tremendous beating. d.i.c.k resisted, and fought with might and main, but he was but a boy, and in the hands of a strong and determined man. For a time this cowed d.i.c.k, but in the same ratio that his courage fell when he thought of resisting his master single-handed, rose his bitter hate against him. Skivers was a man who, if he had reason to dislike any one about him, could not let his feelings remain quiescent.